Requiem For The Dead
by PsandQs
Summary: Written after season 10. As Harry struggles to come to grips with Ruth's death, he is faced with ensuring the security of the Olympics. He becomes convinced there is a threat, and that it is linked to events that took place during his stint in Northern Ireland. Is he right, or has his judgement been impaired by recent events?
1. Chapter 1

- 0 -

_I have a lot of work to do today:  
I need to slaughter memory,  
turn my living soul to stone  
then teach myself to live again...  
_**- Anna Akhmatova: Requiem**

- 0 –

_June 1978  
MI5 Office, Belfast_

Connie James burst into the meeting room and the three men gathered around the table looked up in surprise. Her eyes went to the blond, younger man at the head of the table. His face still bore the evidence of his very recent kidnap and beating by the IRA Nutting Squad and the cuts and bruises made him appear faintly sinister. Harry Pearce, firmly on his way to becoming the next big thing in British Intelligence, regarded her quizzically.  
"Such urgency - is there a bomb somewhere, Connie?" he enquired with a smile. It was a standing joke in the MI5 station in Belfast, belying the tension they all lived with: when would the next one go off? It raised a smirk from the man next to Harry, his best friend and trusted lieutenant, Bill Crombie. Connie thought Bill rather more attractive than his friend, and she was strangely annoyed that he found the tired old joke this funny. Well, her news would soon wipe those smiles off their faces.  
"They just found the body of Davie King's father," she announced. "Dumped naked in the street in front of a police station."

A shocked silence greeted her statement. Harry closed his eyes and fleetingly she read shame and self-disgust in his expression, but it was gone in the blink of an eye.  
"Jesus, they killed him?" It was the other agent handler at the table, Melvyn Smith, who spoke first.  
Connie sat down. "Yes. And they took their time to do it, according to the plods." Her voice stayed calm; only the darkening of the striking blue eyes betrayed her inner turmoil.  
She watched Harry intently. What would the golden boy do now? It was on his orders that they had spread the rumours after all, and she half expected him to shift the blame.

Her thoughts went back to that fateful meeting four days ago when she'd informed Harry that her asset in the IRA had gone rogue. Davie King had taken all that Connie had taught him about the art of making bombs and had begun using it on unofficial targets according to his own desire. They had created a monster and now they had to deal with the fall-out.

- 0 -

_Four days earlier_

"Can we kill him?" Harry asked, surprising Connie with his bluntness. None of the usual euphemisms for assassination for him, apparently.  
She shook her head. "We have no other assets who can get to him, and he'll be on his guard against outsiders."  
They both pondered for a moment.  
"Unless…" Connie said.  
"What?"  
"Unless your new high grade source in the Nutting Squad could get to him. Steak Knife."  
Harry blinked as the mention of Steak Knife brought suppressed memories rushing back to the surface.

_The smell of blood, and fear, and piss, as he watched Patrick McCann move down the line of men across from him.  
"Which of these bastards are your spies, you limey fucker? This one?" He slammed the butt of the gun into the man's face and watched Harry carefully for a reaction. He got none. "No? How about this one?" McCann casually shot the man in the kneecap. His screams reverberated around Harry's skull._

Harry forced his mind back to the present. "We can't risk exposing Steak Knife for this. He's too important."  
He was right, and Connie knew it. They would have to find another way to stop King.  
"Down to Finances, Family and Friends then," Melvyn suggested.  
Harry nodded. "Smithy is right. But we don't have time to pussyfoot around with finances and friends. We need to shut Davie down fast. What's his family situation like, Connie?"  
"It's only him and his father. The father is a good man. A taxi driver. He's not involved in the IRA."  
They all watched Harry mull this over. He lifted his head and looked around the table.  
"Right, this is what I want you to do. Put out word on the street that Davie's father is one of our informants. Connie, you leave a message for Davie that if he comes in, we'll clear his father's name. If he doesn't – well, he should know better than anyone what his mates in the IRA do to informants."  
Smithy stared at Harry in disbelief. "You're going to put an innocent man at risk to achieve our aims?"  
Harry straightened his shoulders, his jaw clenched. "Do you have a better solution?"  
When no response was forthcoming, he nodded, his resolve strengthened. "Unpleasant though it may be, this is the only option on the table. So that's what we'll do."  
The others filed slowly out of the room but Connie lingered behind. When Harry looked at her he saw admiration and a hint of envy in her eyes.  
She spoke, a sardonic smile on her lips. "You'll go far in this place, young Harry Pearce. You have ice water in those veins."

- 0 -

_Four days later_

Harry stood up, his face unreadable. "We have to up the alert level and warn all intelligence officers. Davie King will be out for revenge. I'll go tell Simon."  
Simon Cooper was the Head of Station and a man who didn't like it when his officers went off-piste. Connie wondered whether this incident would put the brakes on that meteoric rise Harry seemed destined for. If she were honest with herself, she had to admit that she did not find the thought unpleasant. Even as her admiration grew for the manner in which he was taking responsibility for his own actions, so her jealousy at his instant success continued to fester.

- 0 -

_One week later_

The young man strode down the street, eagerly looking forward to seeing the girl he was in love with for the first time in ten days. Work had been busy and he'd only managed a few snatched conversations on the phone with her. He rounded the corner and there she was, waiting in front of O'Mally's for him. She was so beautiful that he stopped for a moment to gaze at her. The hesitation saved his life. There was a bright flash behind her and the windows of the pub blew outward, enveloping her. The boom of the explosion reached him a split-second later and his heart stopped. He ran forward, hurling himself into the thick dust cloud hanging over the pub with no thought to his own safety, only to stumble over a chunk of the wall. As he fell to his knees the dust lifted momentarily and he saw her. A spar of wood was sticking out of her chest and her dress was turning a bright red. He scrambled closer, a sob tearing from his throat.  
"Oh no, oh Jesus no. Andrea…"  
He cradled her to his chest, and she looked into his eyes briefly before her own closed for good.

- 0 -

_MI5 Office, one hour later_

Harry walked into the tea room with a heavy tread. Connie looked up and the expression on his face told her everything she needed to know.  
"It was Davie's work, then?"  
Harry nodded wearily. "Twelve dead, including two Army Intelligence guys," he said, before turning on his heel and walking away.  
Connie turned back to her tea and somehow knew that those twelve lives would lie on Harry's soul as heavily as they would on hers. She felt the anger build up inside. How much longer would this dirty war drag on? England couldn't even keep its own house in order, yet it still wanted to throw its weight around on the world stage. What a pathetic little empire they had become.

**- 0 – 0 – 0 -**

_29 April 2012  
London, the Grid_

Harry paced the floor behind Calum, hands in pockets. He glanced at the counter again. Twenty minutes. The comms crackled and grainy footage flickered into life on the techie's monitor.  
"They're in," he announced unnecessarily.  
Harry leaned over his shoulder. "Report," he ordered.  
Erin's voice came through. "The bomb is real. Big enough to bring down the whole building. It needs a code to stop it."  
Images of the bomb fed back to the Grid as Dimitri circled the device with the camera.  
Calum whistled. "That's going to make a _big_ bang. This guy clearly has a God complex."  
Harry ignored the comment. "Can we bypass the code in some way?"  
Calum's fingers danced over the keyboard. He could feel the impatience radiating from his boss behind him.  
"Nope," he said finally. "We need to get that code."

Harry straightened up and turned away, weighing up options. He glanced at the clock again and made his decision. No time to waste.  
"Does CO19 have the boy?"  
Calum nodded. "They have him outside the building."  
"Alpha One," Harry said evenly, "CO19 has our bomber's son outside. Fetch him and tie him to that bomb."  
There was a stunned pause, before Erin responded sharply.  
"What?!"  
Harry frowned. "You heard me."  
"No," she shook her head at the camera. "I won't tie an innocent child to a bomb. I refuse!" Her voice rose dangerously.  
Harry glanced at the counter again. "I am not debating this with you, Erin. It is not a request, it is an order. Now do your bloody job." Harry didn't raise his voice, he didn't have to.  
"Erin-" they heard Dimitri say before she overrode him.  
"No. I won't do it."  
A heavy silence settled, in which the ticking of the clock counting inexorably down to zero sounded like hammer blows.  
"Then you have just condemned five hundred innocent people to death," Harry responded brusquely and turned away, trying to rein in his anger.  
Another voice broke in.  
"I'll do it," Dimitri said.  
Erin started to protest but he cut her off. "Harry's right. Five hundred people, Erin. There is no choice here."  
He turned to the camera. "I'll have him in position in ten minutes."  
"Good," Harry responded. He looked at Calum. "Put the feed through to the interrogation room," he ordered, and strode off.

Outside the interrogation room Harry stood for a minute, watching the smug, disturbed man sitting bound to the chair inside. He took a deep breath and opened the door.  
"I want the code," he said without preamble.  
The man lifted his eyes and smiled mirthlessly.  
"Piss off."  
Harry didn't bother to hide his contempt. "No, I don't think I will."  
He moved to the monitor mounted against the wall and switched it on.  
It took the man a few seconds to process what he was seeing. He tried to jump to his feet but the restraints held him in place. Struggling violently against them, he spluttered, "Get him out of there! Get my son out of there now!"  
Harry watched him, expressionless. "Give me the code."  
The man tore his eyes from the screen and for the first time properly looked at the spook who had just turned his world upside down. He saw no sympathy, no spark of emotion in the forbidding face, and a cold fear gripped his heart.  
"What kind of a man are you? What kind of man would tie a little boy to a bomb?"  
Harry actually smiled. "The code," he demanded again.  
"You fucking heartless bastard! You're a monster-"  
He didn't get any further. Harry took two steps forward and loomed over him menacingly.  
"I'm not the one who planted a bomb in a building because I got fired. _The code_."

On the monitor behind him, a four year old boy sat alone in a room, tied to a bomb, crying.

- 0 -

_One hour later_

It took an hour to tie all the loose ends and to persuade the powers that be that it was simply one crazy man with a grudge, not a terror threat. Finally alone in his office, Harry loosened his tie and poured a drink. He sank into his chair wearily and sat still, inhaling the peaty aroma of the Scotch.  
_Just one_, he promised silently.  
After a few sips he put the glass aside and picked up his pen. He began to write:

_29/04/12  
Dear Ruth,_

The Grid's doors slid open, breaking his train of thought. He glanced up to see Erin and Dimitri step through, back from supervising the dismantling of the bomb. The tension lay thick between them and Erin's face was pale and set. She turned toward his office immediately, only to be intercepted by Calum.  
"Come on, Erin, give him a break," he heard the techie say, and then he added more quietly, "especially today."  
She paid him no heed; merely stepped around him and marched on.  
Harry put down his pen and drew a file over his writing, then sat back and waited for the coming storm.

_tbc_

Note: The part about events in Belfast is based on combined information from episode 6.9 and Harry's Diary.


	2. Chapter 2

_29 April 2012  
London, the Grid_

Erin came to a stop in front of Harry's desk and they stared at each other wordlessly. Neither blinked.  
"Don't you ever ask me to use a child like that again," she ground out.  
Harry pursed his lips. "I will give you any order I deem to be the most effective at that particular moment, and you _will_ carry them out," he responded icily. "Lives depend upon you doing so."  
Her face flushed. "Screw you, Harry! There is a line we don't cross. Or at least, there is one that _I_ won't cross. You on the other hand-"  
She stopped herself, breathing heavily, before plunging on. "What if it had been Rosie, for God's sake? Would you have ordered Rosie tied to that bomb?"

And there it was; the crux of the matter. Harry held her glare and his silence was all the answer she needed. Her eyes flashed mutinously and suddenly he was so, so tired. He stood up and collected his coat, brushing past his Section Chief as he did so. After shrugging it on he turned to her.  
"But it wasn't Rosie, Erin."  
He stepped back behind the desk. "Imaginative compassion is a liability in this job. You can't afford to play the 'what if' game, not when there are so many lives at stake. The best you can hope for is that the day that it turns out to be Rosie you will not be the one that will have to make the decisions."  
Harry held her eyes, making sure the message sank in, before he reached for his glass, the gesture a dismissal. Erin stood a moment longer, then turned abruptly and stalked out. Harry rubbed his forehead wearily and nudged the file out of the way to stare at the words he had written.  
_Dear Ruth_  
Pain engulfed him and he sucked in a ragged breath.

Out on the Grid, Calum watched the man in the office toss back the Scotch, then pick up the leather bound journal from his desk and slip it into his pocket. He left without a word. As soon as the doors closed behind him, Calum picked up the phone.

- 0 -

_Twenty minutes later  
London, South Bank_

Harry sat on the bench and stared across the river unseeingly. It was early evening on a Spring day and the setting sun gave all it touched a golden glow. He didn't notice the beauty of the day; his focus was inward. After an eternity he reached into his pocket and pulled out the journal. It fell open on the last page he had written on.

_29/04/12  
Dear Ruth,_

He pulled out his pen and resumed.

_Today I ordered that a four year old boy be tied to a bomb. He had dark hair, and dark eyes. Today of all days, Ruth. Just as I think that life can't get any more wretched, it gives me a day like today. The universe is a cruel taskmaster, isn't it?_

_All turned out well in the end, although I think the episode may have put a strain on Erin and Dimitri's relationship. She refused to carry out my order, and Dimitri stepped up. I am more impressed with him every day. He is turning into a top class officer – brave, clear-headed, with good judgement. Erin, though… I worry about her sometimes. She hasn't yet found the right balance between compassion and ruthlessness that is so crucial in this job. But then, she probably thinks the same about me. I can see it in her eyes when I make decisions such as the one I made today. She thinks I'm harder because I lost you._

A shadow fell across the page and Harry looked up to see William Towers stand in front of him. The Home Secretary's eyes rested on the journal and Harry closed it gently.  
"Hello, Harry."  
"Home Secretary."  
Towers settled himself on the bench next to Harry. "I'm off the clock," he stated amiably, as if that explained his presence adequately, and half turned to observe the man next to him.  
Harry nodded but didn't respond, so Towers pressed on.  
"I was on my way to get a drink and dinner when I saw you. Do you want to join me?"  
Harry's mouth twitched, whether in derision or amusement his companion wasn't quite sure.  
"You're terrible at this," he stated bluntly.  
"Am I?" Towers shrugged. "I thought I was being quite subtle, myself."  
He watched Harry closely and was gratified to see the smile stretch a tad wider.  
"Oh, you're a paragon of understatement, William," Harry said dryly and finally turned to face the other man. "Why are you really here?"  
Towers sighed and looked out over the river. "Because of the date," he responded softly and somewhat uncomfortably. "I… thought you might appreciate some company tonight."  
Harry was quiet for a while, his gaze on the journal in his hands.  
"No," he said eventually. "No thank you."

The Home Secretary accepted the rebuff in good grace. Truth be told, he hadn't really expected a different answer and had told Officer Reid so when he'd called earlier. He leaned back and stretched out his legs, watching the few people dotted around the Embankment. It was too early for the evening rush, it seemed. A red bus crawling along on the opposite bank caught his attention.  
"Only three months to the Olympics, Harry. How are we doing on the security arrangements?"  
The spook lifted an eyebrow. "I thought you were off the clock," he murmured.  
Towers smiled ruefully. "You're right, you're right," he conceded. "You're a bad influence on me."  
Harry smiled and relented. "I have a meeting with the honourable mayor of London next week to finalise everything."  
A note of distaste crept into his voice. "He's contracted a private security company to assist."  
The Home Secretary rolled his eyes. "Good God."  
"Indeed. I've tried to argue against it, but you know what he's like."  
"Yes. Well, good luck, and keep me updated."

Towers stood, and looked at the man who had become a friend in the last few months with compassion. He noted the way his thumb absently traced over the journal in his hand and the faraway look in his eyes.  
"Harry," he said gently. "You need to fill the vacant positions in your section soon. You're going to need all the hands you can get for the Olympics."  
Harry's jaw clenched and he blinked, then nodded. "I know."  
Towers waited but Harry said nothing more. He sighed inaudibly. "Well. I'll leave you to it. If you change your mind about dinner..."  
Harry nodded mutely, gratefully, but they both knew he wouldn't.  
Towers walked away. He looked back once and saw Harry busily writing. He hoped there weren't too many state secrets in that journal.

- 0 -

He wrote:  
_Erin's wrong though. I would have done the same had you been there. In fact, I like to think that you would have understood the need for the order, even though you would have hated it._

Harry paused, a niggling thought fighting its way to the front of his mind.  
_Or perhaps I'm turning you into something you never were – a yes-man (all right, yes-woman). A way to salve my conscience, to justify my actions. How could I truly claim to know how you would have reacted? Is it possible for people to know each other so well, that they could always predict the other's reaction? I'm not so sure about that any more. Time passes and we remember things from our own perspective, rather than objectively. How could it be otherwise? Life is subjective._

_Anyway, I'm rambling. Three months until the Olympics and Towers just reminded me that I need to find a second techie. And the hardest of all, a new analyst. Life must go on, even if I should wish it not to today._

Harry looked up, took a deep breath, and wrote a final few words.

_Happy birthday, Ruth._

He closed the journal and slowly made his way home.

- 0 -

_8 May 2012  
Office of the Mayor, London_

Harry was shown into the office by an efficient woman who regarded him with ill-disguised curiosity. He was used to the reaction; people who didn't often meet members of the Security Services tended to find the experience quite exciting, until they realised that the spies were normal people like anyone else. He declined her offer of coffee and shifted his attention to the man behind the desk. The Mayor rose and came forward to shake his hand.  
"Sir Harry. Thank you for coming. Getting excited about the Olympics yet, are we?"  
"No," Harry said acerbically. "The day they recognise cricket as an Olympic sport is the day I'll get excited about it."  
The Mayor faltered momentarily. "Er, right. Well. I called this meeting to introduce you to the Head of the private security firm I've hired-"  
"About that, Mayor," Harry interrupted. "Let me reiterate once again that I find it highly irregular and, frankly, irresponsible. I cannot stress strongly enough how concerned I am about the involvement of this private security firm."  
The Mayor laughed. "Oh, relax. Must you take everything so seriously?"  
He failed to notice Harry's face darken ominously and blithely sailed on. "I didn't rake in a firm willy-nilly from the street. There was a tender process, all above board."  
"Oh, a _tender_ process. Well, thank God, we can now all sleep easy in our beds at night," Harry retorted scathingly.  
The Mayor frowned, taken aback. "I fail to see the problem-"  
"Did you do a security audit on this firm? Background checks on every single guard to be used, every executive, every person who's ever sold them equipment?"  
"Well no, but it's hardly necessary." He smiled broadly, pleased with himself. "You see, the Head of the firm used to be one of you chaps. He assured me that he only employs the most trustworthy personnel."  
Harry stared at him, aghast. "You simply took his word for it? You imbec-"  
The door opened at that opportune moment, preventing Harry from insulting the Mayor of London's mental faculties. He turned away, trying to check his anger.  
Behind him the secretary said, "Mr Smith from Fortress Inc is here, Mayor," and ushered another man in.  
Harry swung around and was met with an old face from the past.

- 0 -

_Same day, late evening  
The Grid_

Harry sat in his office, jacket off and tie loosened. The rest of the Grid was shrouded in darkness. He nursed his second whisky of the night carefully, making it last. The journal lay open before him and he thought for a moment before beginning.

_08/05/12  
Dear Ruth,  
The mayor remains adamant about using a private security firm to protect some of the Olympic venues. Have you ever heard such poppycock? I appealed to Towers, but even he couldn't sway the man. I'm not sure what lies behind it – normally with politicians I would put my money on, well, money, but I have set Calum onto it and he can't find any whiff of corruption or irregularity about the tender process. And then today I walk into his office to learn he'd done no background checks before awarding the tender, because the Head of the firm that won it used to be 'one of us chaps'. The sheer stupidity of it is astounding. I know, I know; I should have expected something like this from a politician. Maybe I've been lulled into a false sense of security by William's competence._

_Anyway. The Head of the firm is Melvyn Smith. Smithy, of all people. I used to work with him way back in Belfast. He was an agent handler, but I lost touch with him after Bill's death and my subsequent transfer to Six. I vaguely recall that he left the Service shortly after. I'm not surprised – I remember him as a cautious man, unwilling to take the risks that are sometimes needed to get things done. These are not good traits for an intelligence officer to have. He seemed happy enough to see me, even though we didn't part on the best of terms. After Bill's death, he made a comment in a meeting that we'd brought it upon ourselves because of the 'bad things' we'd done. I was sure that it was a not-so-subtle reference to Davie King's father and I didn't take kindly to it. I punched him. Shortly after that I was transferred and I never saw him again._

_Something is bothering me about the whole situation, Ruth, but I don't know why. I have this sense of unease, which is growing stronger as the Olympics get closer. I wish that I were more sure of my instincts, but after everything that's happened I can't help but doubt myself. Elena played me and I never suspected, never had the slightest inkling. Am I now seeing monsters under the bed that aren't there? I intend to find out._

_Perhaps your replacement, which arrives in two weeks' time, can figure it out. I hope I don't need a translator._

_I hope I can cope with someone else in your post._

_tbc_


	3. Chapter 3

_21 May 2012  
London, the Grid_

It was just after seven and the Grid was quietly awaiting the start of another day. Harry was in his office, catching up on paperwork, a coffee at his elbow. The doors swished open and a tall, thin man in his late thirties stepped through. Harry took in the neat suit, the dark brown hair, the look of curiosity on his face as he looked around the space. His gaze reached the Section Head's office and Harry found himself looking into a pair of vibrant green eyes. Intelligent eyes. He beckoned to the man. Once he entered the office Harry stood and held out a hand.  
"You're early," he commented as they shook hands.  
"Sir Harry," the man acknowledged. "Och, first day nerves I suppose. I wanted to get going as soon as possible."  
The Scottish accent was heavy, but not impenetrable.  
_Won't need that translator after all_, Harry thought wryly.  
"Call me Harry," he said instead.

The doors opened again and Erin came in.  
"Ah, come along." Harry strode out of the office.  
"Erin, our new senior analyst has arrived. Rory Ferguson, meet Erin Watts, Section Chief. She'll get you settled."  
Erin looked at Harry with a brief smile and nodded. It was the first time since their argument that she smiled at him and he recognised its significance. She had thought about what he'd said and had made her peace with it. Harry nodded back solemnly before returning to his office, and Erin turned her attention to the new arrival.  
"Rory, welcome. You'll have to hit the ground running I'm afraid. The Olympics is fast approaching and-"  
She stopped talking as he smirked.  
"What?"  
"Nice pun," he said.  
She frowned in confusion.  
"The Olympics?" he prompted, but she remained blank.  
"_Fast_ approaching, hit the ground _running_," he explained, and she rolled her eyes.  
"Not another one," she said, exasperated.  
When it was Rory's turn to look confused she added, "You'll understand when you meet Calum. Now, this is your station. And these," she waved at the mountain of files covering it, "are the personnel files of the private security company the Mayor has engaged for the Olympics. Harry's not happy about that so we need to make sure we have all the bases covered."  
Rory's gaze drifted back to the man in the glass office. "Not the most gregarious man, is he? Word is that he's hard to please."  
Erin looked at Harry and her face softened. "He's a good man," she responded after a beat. "And yes, he has high standards. But he's fair. All he asks is that you do the best you can."  
The Scot watched her carefully as she spoke. Her affection and admiration for their boss was obvious. She thought for a moment, then continued.  
"Listen, Rory. Harry recently lost someone he cared for very much. She was your predecessor, so… If he's a little hard on you sometimes, just remember that, okay?"  
Rory nodded slowly. "I will." He looked at his desk and smiled slightly. "Better get stuck in."

- 0 -

_25 May 2012  
London, Olympic Stadium_

Harry had requested a tour of the Olympic stadium; he liked to know exactly what he was dealing with in terms of security concerns. As a result, he and Erin found themselves trailing along as the stadium manager explained the ins and outs of building it. He spent an inordinate amount of time explaining to them how the upper tier could be dismantled afterwards, making the stadium a shining example of future sustainable use by decreasing the cost of its upkeep after the Olympics.  
"Fascinating," Harry murmured, straight-faced, and only Erin picked up on the sardonic note in his voice. She turned her face away to hide her smile.  
"Did you use any foreign contractors?" he asked, getting down to business.  
The manager looked affronted. "No, sir. Only the best England can offer. Even the materials used were all sourced locally. And what we couldn't find locally we got from Ireland and Wales, like some of these granite blocks."  
He kicked at one of the blocks anchoring a pillar deep in the bowels of the stadium.  
"Oh! I haven't shown you the change rooms yet. State of the art."  
He scurried off. Harry looked at Erin with a pained expression before following.

- 0 -

_28 May 2012  
London, the Grid_

The doors slid open and the new techie stepped through. It was her fourth day on the team and she was beginning to feel more at ease with the job and her colleagues. In fact, she finally felt confident enough to come to work as she most preferred to look for the first time. However, some of that confidence evaporated when her entrance was greeted by a stunned silence. Calum was staring at her, shock written all over his face. Moments later he was on his feet and bearing down on her.  
"Holy shit Jenny, do you want to get fired?" he demanded, taking in her purple hair, nose-stud and black make-up.  
"If Harry sees you like this he'll go ballistic."  
Jenny shrugged. "Come on, what does he care what I look like, as long as I do my job?"  
Rory had now joined them and shook his head at her naivety. "Have you _met _Harry?" he enquired dryly. "He can be pretty persnickety."

Both Jenny and Calum turned to stare at the analyst.  
"_Persnickety_?" Jenny snorted. "Is that even a word?"  
"Yes it is, Miss Palmer."  
Harry's unexpected voice behind them made the other three jump.  
"Oh crap," Calum mumbled under his breath, earning a glare from Harry before he turned his attention back to the young woman.  
"It describes someone who is fussy about small details or demands great precision," he explained helpfully.  
"It can also," he said as his glare turned to Rory, "be used to describe someone who has the characteristics of a snob."  
The analyst shifted uncomfortably but kept quiet.  
"Oh," Jenny said feebly, drawing his attention back to her.  
"Most erudite, Jennifer," Harry retorted as he looked her up and down.  
"Have you been, or are you about to go undercover at a rave?" he inquired mildly, but there was a dangerous glint in his eye.  
Jenny glanced at Calum beseechingly and he shook his head imperceptibly at her, trying to warn her that this was not a good time to be a smart-mouth.  
"No, sir," she responded softly, dropping her eyes to stare at Harry's immaculately polished shoes.  
"Look at me," he said sharply, and her head snapped up.  
"I don't care what you look like when you're not at work, but when you step through those doors," he swept an arm behind him, "you will look like a normal human being and not something that escaped from the Rocky Horror Picture Show. Yes?"  
She nodded. "Yes, Harry."  
"Good." He disappeared into his office and shut the door firmly behind him.

Jenny stared after him, trying to unpick her feelings about her new boss. By rights she should find him annoying; an irritating old fogy that was way behind the times. She should resent the stentorian manner in which he spoke to her, and yet… She found herself wondering what it would have been like to have someone like him as her father rather than the drinking, womanising bastard she had the misfortune to get. Someone who called her Jennifer, who didn't let her get away with anything, but who she could sense, underneath it all, truly cared about her well-being. She sighed and trudged off towards the Ladies.

- 0 -

_One hour later_

They were gathered in the meeting room for a routine update briefing. Jenny's face was scrubbed clean, her hair was back to its normal colour and the stud was gone. It made her look absurdly young and Harry's heart clenched. She reminded him of his daughter when Catherine was twenty-two and he sighed morosely. His first reaction when Calum had brought her file to him was to protest that she was too young, but Calum insisted that she was the most talented hacker of her generation and they should bring her into the fold before she turned to 'the dark side'.

Rory burst into the room, interrupting his rumination, and waved a file around excitedly.  
"I've found something." He was triumphant and started speaking rapidly, the Scottish accent thicker than ever. The team frowned at each other in confusion as they struggled to figure out what their analyst was on about. Calum was the first to lose patience.  
"Hey, William Wallace. Calm down, and repeat in the Queen's English."  
Rory smiled sheepishly. "Sorry."  
He took a deep breath and spoke more slowly. "I've been working through the personnel files of the private security company and I found something. One of the senior guards," he picked up the remote and brought up a photograph of a man in his early forties, "is not who he claims to be. He is not from Wales, and his name is not Mark Jones. He is, in fact, from Northern Ireland. And his name is Ronan Flannery."  
Dimitri studied the face on the screen. "Any links to one of the radical Republican groups?"  
"Er, no. Not that I could find. But there is this: his sister died in an IRA bomb blast in Belfast in '78."  
Erin frowned. "That's hardly a reason to assume a false identity. And surely his sister's death would turn him against the IRA, if anything?"

Before the analyst could respond, Harry spoke. "Rory."  
There was a focused stillness to their boss and all eyes turned to him.  
"The bomb blast; when in '78?"  
Rory consulted his notes. "June."  
"The O'Mally's bomb?" Harry asked again.  
"Yes," Rory responded, his curiosity piqued. "How did you know?"  
Harry took a beat before responding. "I was stationed in Belfast at the time."  
He seemed to gather himself and looked around the table. "In that war things were seldom black and white. It is quite possible that his sister's death could have radicalised him. So I want you to pull this man's life apart. I want to know everything there is to know about him, down to his favourite breakfast cereal."  
He looked at Erin. "And I want you to find a way to get Dimitri into this private security company undercover. You'll have to make it bloody convincing – the Head is a former intelligence officer and won't be fooled easily."  
As they filed out Erin turned back to look at Harry. He was staring at the photo of Flannery, deep in thought.

- 0 -

_Same day, late night  
Harry's house_

He was ensconced in his favourite armchair. A CD of cello concertos was playing softly in the background, but otherwise the house was quiet. It was late, close to midnight, and he was tired, but there were too many thoughts running through his head to allow for sleep. He reached for the journal.

_28/05/12  
Dear Ruth,  
Jung's concept of synchronicity. We once discussed it during one of those late night chats in my office, when it was just you, me and the ghosts still on the Grid. I loved those nights and can remember them all in detail. I've been thinking about it all day. Synchronicity, I mean. 'The experience of two or more events that are apparently causally unrelated or unlikely to occur together by chance and that are observed to occur together in a meaningful manner.' So how about this: The mayor insists on using a private security company for the Olympics, and it happens to be headed by a man who worked with me when Davie King bombed O'Mally's to revenge the death of his father. And an Irish man, who lost his sister in that very same bombing, is one of the senior guards in this company, under an assumed name. Are these events causally unrelated? I wonder._

_You would have known, I suspect._

_I miss you, Ruth. In these nights when sleep is elusive in particular. I try not to wallow in it, but it's hard not to in the quiet of midnight. Last night I dreamt of you – the same dream I've had quite a few times now. It always amazes me that one can dream so vividly about something that you've never experienced. The feel of your skin sliding against mine is so real that I forget for a moment we never made love. I experience a few minutes of true happiness, but then reality intrudes. The dream always ends with your blood staining my hands, and then I wake up. Sometimes I think it would be better to never have the dream again, but other days I think it's worth it for those few minutes of bliss. I wonder what the psychologist would say about that._

_She did get one aspect right though. I do feel better writing these things down, as if I'm talking to you. It helps me order my thoughts – you never were impressed by a poorly structured argument. I think I'll take Smithy out for a drink, get him to reminisce about old times. See if I can find out whether synchronicity is, in fact, at play here._

Harry went upstairs, stripped and lay in bed, staring at the dark ceiling. He wished sleep would come but at the same time feared what dreams it would bring with it. Would there ever come a time when he would dream about her without it ending with her blood on his hands, his clothes; so bright red, so vivid? He fervently hoped so.

_tbc_


	4. Chapter 4

_31 May 2012, early evening  
London, Cricketers Pub_

Harry sat in a booth, keeping an eye on the door. He'd considered meeting Smithy at his club but feared that the ostentatious setting would inhibit the man and put him on his guard. He needed to be relaxed if he was going to let anything slip. The subject of his thoughts entered and Harry stood up.  
"Smithy," he greeted and held out his hand.  
Smithy shook it. "Harry. Or should I say Sir Harry?"  
Harry laughed, embarrassed, and moved on swiftly. "What would you like?" He nodded towards the bar.  
The other man's gaze dropped to Harry's scotch. "Same."  
He settled into the booth and waited for Harry to come back.  
"They do a decent steak, egg and chips if you're hungry?" Harry said as he placed the drink on the table.  
Smithy considered briefly. "Sure, why not. Medium all round."  
Harry waved the barmaid over. "Two steak egg and chips, one medium all round, the usual for me."

He waited until she had left before lifting his glass. "To old times."  
Smithy smiled. "Old times," he repeated.  
Harry observed him as he took a sip and noticed a muscle twitching in the other man's cheek. There was an awkward silence as Smithy looked around the pub, trying to think of something to say.  
"So, a Knight, huh?" he offered finally. "Who'd have thought that cocky young whippersnapper I met in Belfast would get this far?"  
Was that a note of resentment in his voice? Harry couldn't be sure.  
He shrugged. "They dole them out like candy nowadays," he said self-deprecatingly.  
"Oh, I'm sure you deserve it," Smithy responded and smiled. "I've heard you've had quite the career."  
And there it was again, a hint of venom underlying the innocent words.

Harry did not want to spend the evening talking about himself and changed tack. "And what about you? Who would have thought you'd turn into Mr Big Business? Winning this tender for the Olympics is quite a feat."  
Harry's voice was warm, complimentary. "Did you go straight into private security after leaving the Service?"  
"Come on," his companion laughed, "don't pretend you haven't looked into every nook and cranny of my company. I know how these things work. I used to be a spook too, remember?"  
Harry smiled slightly and conceded the point. Before he could say anything Smithy continued. "And? Did you find anything of concern?"  
Harry was aware of the other man's keen, probing gaze.  
"Why do you ask?" he responded lightly. "Is there something you want to confess, Smithy?"  
They stared at each other until Smithy suddenly laughed and shook his head. "Same old Harry," he chuckled. "Always on the job."  
The comment stabbed at Harry and he looked away, but was spared the need for a response when the food arrived.

They made small-talk while they ate, feeling each other out all the time. As he dipped another chip into the runny egg yolk Harry nudged the conversation back to the topic he was most interested in.  
"Have you ever been back to Belfast?"  
Smithy put his fork down and took a long swallow of Scotch. "No," he said shortly.  
Harry watched the play of emotions on the other man's face, intrigued by what he read there. He changed direction.  
"I was wrong to punch you in that meeting. You had every right to say what you did," he conceded.  
Smithy stared at him in surprise; he had never pegged Harry Pearce as someone who apologised for anything, and he wondered whether the man sitting opposite him was sincere.  
He responded cautiously, "Maybe. But I admit that I could have been more tactful – you'd just lost your best friend, after all."  
They fell quiet, both thinking back to that harrowing period in their lives. The expression on Harry's face left Smithy in no doubt that Bill's death still weighed heavily on him.  
"Why did you leave the Service, Smithy?" Harry asked suddenly into the silence.

The question caught the other man off-guard and he looked up sharply. Harry appeared genuinely interested in the answer, as though he was baffled by the concept of anyone not wanting to serve their country. It angered Smithy and caused him to snap, "That business with Davie King's father showed me that I didn't have what it takes to be an intelligence officer. I could never have done that. You need a heart of stone to do that."  
He glared at Harry, all pretence of civility gone. Harry's mouth twitched as he gazed back steadily. He said nothing. Smithy reined himself in with difficulty and dropped his gaze to the table.  
"Sorry," he mumbled.  
When Harry spoke his voice was carefully controlled. "You never married?"  
"Er, no." Smithy's eyes slid away from Harry's unwavering attention. "Never met the right girl," he added lamely.  
"Hmm," was all Harry said.  
Desperate to shift the focus off himself, Smithy looked at Harry's left hand. "Divorced?" he enquired with a note of relish.  
"Yes. Jane shared your view of me – said she'd married a nightmare." There was a note of anger underlying the words which somehow scared Smithy. He feared, for a second, that Harry would physically attack him, but then the spook leaned back against his seat and smiled.  
"Maybe you were smarter than me – staying away from marriage all these years. You spared yourself a lot of trouble, my friend."  
Harry signalled to the bar for another round of drinks, and Smithy knew he was in for a long night.

- 0 -

_1 June 2012, morning  
London, the Grid_

When Jenny entered, Harry was already in. She wondered sometimes whether he actually went home. He seemed to always be there. She poked her head around his door and called a cheerful greeting.  
"Morning, Boss."  
It was only when he lifted bloodshot eyes to hers and mumbled a reply that she noticed how terrible he looked. If she wasn't mistaken, her stuffy superior was suffering from a hangover. And she should know. She smirked to herself and left him to suffer in peace.

Harry wasn't sure how much time passed between her leaving and Erin walking in, lost as he was in his thumping headache, raging thirst and sluggish brain. He looked up to find her regarding him with concern and he knew what she was thinking. He didn't blame her. It wasn't as if there weren't precedent for it.  
"It's not what you think," he stated firmly.  
"I had dinner with Melvyn Smith last night. There is definitely something underhanded going on, and it is somehow linked to events in Belfast in 1978."  
Erin looked dubious. "I just don't see it, Harry. Are you saying that Flannery blames the English for what happened to his sister? It was an IRA bomb that killed her. Why would he blame us? And why would Smith help him achieve his objective?"  
Harry considered, unsure how much he would have to reveal to convince her. In the end he settled for some of the truth.  
"The O'Mally's bomb was revenge for the Security Services framing an innocent man and causing him to be killed by the IRA. Two Military Intelligence officers were killed in that blast. I have no doubt that they were the real targets – the rest were just collateral damage."  
He met Erin's eyes. "Someone blames us for that bomb, and I would wager good money that someone is Ronan Flannery. And Melvyn Smith was there when the decision was taken to frame that innocent man, so perhaps this is his way of atoning for his sins."  
He paused and took a breath. "The threat is real, Erin. Get Dimitri into Fortress as soon as humanly possible."  
She nodded. "Okay. We've found a way. He can be in place by Monday."

- 0 -

_Same day, late night  
Harry's house_

_01/06/12  
Dear Ruth,  
It's been a while since I've had to sacrifice my liver in the defence of the realm. It takes me back to the days of Jools Siviter, when this sort of thing was a somewhat regular occurrence. At least Jools was a worthy opponent. Clearly Smithy does not have my experience in consuming large amounts of alcohol. I feel terrible today, but for a change it is not accompanied by the usual guilt. Thankfully it wasn't all for nothing – I now know that Smithy is definitely up to something. What, I don't yet know. One thing is for sure – he hates me. It all seems connected to the O'Mally's bombing somehow. I'm convinced that Smithy is helping Flannery and that they are planning an attack on the Olympics. Smithy must have told Flannery his sister died in an act of revenge on British Security Service personnel. It is less clear to me why Smithy would go to the lengths of targeting the Olympics. Is it simply to atone for his involvement in the death of Davie King's father? If so, it is a little extreme. It was my order, my decision. He merely helped spread the rumours. Is there something more personal at play here? I have requested a full audit of Smithy's time in Belfast._

_At least Erin and Dimitri have sorted out their differences. I saw them kiss in the corridor before Dimitri left to start his undercover stint. I am happy for them. And I envy them as well. I can't help thinking about what could have been at times like these. But that way madness lies. I'll have to try harder to focus on the many good memories I have of you and let go of the if-only's._

- 0 -

_4 June 2012  
London, Fortress Inc Headquarters_

Dimitri stood at the back of the room, surveying the hundreds of guards assembled. They had found out that Melvyn Smith had a cooperation agreement with another private security company by which the other company would provide replacement personnel to Fortress Inc if needed. As providence would have it, four of Smith's regular personnel were in an accident and he had requested replacements from the other company. It had taken one phone call from Harry, after which the somewhat pale CEO of the other company accommodated Dimitri among the replacements he'd sent.

The spook located Flannery near the front and unobtrusively made his way towards him. The Irishman was surrounded by four other men and none of the other guards attempted to talk to them. Dimitri placed himself within easy reach of the little group. He reached into his pocket and located the small tracking device Calum had supplied him with, then scanned the man in front of him for possible locations for it. Slipping it under the collar of his jacket seemed the best option; it was the piece of clothing the target would wear most often. Now all he had to do was wait for the right opportunity.

Melvyn Smith came onto the podium and addressed the assembly. He wasn't a particularly good orator and Dimitri watched the men around him fidget and shuffle around in boredom. What he needed was a diversion. He took a pen and paper out of his pocket and flipped the cap off the pen, dropping it. As he stooped to pick it up, he pricked the man next to him in the leg with the tiny needle at the back of the pen. His neighbour didn't even feel it. He waited. It took five minutes before the man suddenly swayed on his feet and collapsed unceremoniously. During the hubbub that ensued Dimitri managed to slip the tracking device under Flannery's collar unnoticed.

- 0 -

_6 June 2012  
London, the Grid_

Harry stalked out of his office and came to a stop in front of the two techies.  
"What's this?" he demanded, waving a folder about.  
Jenny apprehensively looked to Calum for guidance.  
"That's the information on Melvyn Smith you asked for," Calum said, unperturbed by his boss' evident displeasure.  
Harry scowled. "No, in fact the information I asked for is conspicuously absent from this abject effort." He flung the folder down on Calum's desk.  
"I asked for details of his service and life in Belfast, and you give me his date of appointment and resignation?"  
He gave Jenny a baleful look. "I thought you were supposed to be the best hacker of your generation."  
She bristled. "I can't find information that's not there, Harry."  
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Harry demanded.  
"It means," Calum intervened, "that the events you are interested in happened back in the Stone Age. We can't find it if it's not on a computer."  
Harry processed this. "So you're saying it's not available anywhere?"  
"I'm saying it's not available in a digital format, yes."  
"But it should be in the paper archives." Rory, who had watched the exchange with interest, came over and explained, "MI5 has not yet digitised all the old files, but they're all kept in the Registry. Someone with enough patience and time should be able to find what you're looking for."  
He turned to Harry and said hopefully, "I don't mind doing it. I love rooting through all those old files."  
But Harry shook his head. "I can't spare you. I need you on the main thrust of the operation full time. No," he added thoughtfully, "I have someone else in mind."

He walked off without further explanation. It was time to visit an old friend.

_tbc_


	5. Chapter 5

_19 June 2012  
London, the Grid_

"Harry," Erin appeared in his door. "Dimitri's report has come in."  
He followed her over to Calum's station and settled himself against the desk.  
"Let's hear it."  
Dimitri had been undercover a little over two weeks now and sent daily reports via an encrypted cellphone. Calum opened the audio file and Dimitri's voice filled the room.  
_"Flannery continues to keep to himself, with only his four mates for company. He doesn't socialise with the rest of the guards. I've made careful enquiries, and it's clear he's not a popular man with the others. He's a relatively recent addition to Fortress; apparently he was brought in once they tendered for the Olympics gig. He mostly goes to work and back home again and shares his flat with two of the blokes who are always with him. As they seldom work the same shifts, I've not yet had a chance to bug the place. Yesterday he met Melvyn Smith in a pub, but I couldn't get close enough to hear what they were saying. The police is scheduled to give a general briefing on procedures to be followed during the Olympics tomorrow – it might afford me the opportunity to get into their flat."_

Harry pursed his lips. He was frustrated by the slow progress they'd made and could tell that his team was beginning to doubt whether an attack was planned.  
"Okay," he said. "Are we monitoring the black market for movement of large quantities of explosives or weapons?"  
Calum nodded. "If he tries to buy anything, we'll know."  
It was Rory who voiced Harry's biggest fear. "We know the IRA still has weapons caches all over the old Emerald Isle. What if he doesn't have to buy any?"  
Harry rubbed his forehead. "Then we make sure we have all other avenues covered. They still have to get the explosives into one of the Olympic venues. Let's think about ways it could be done and pre-empt any attempt to do so."  
Calum's eyes lit up. "Maybe they'll hide it in the athletic equipment - the javelins, discuses, or the shot put and hammer-throw stuff. It could give a whole new meaning to the term 'explosive release'."  
A few of the others smiled but Harry remained impassive.  
He said archly, "Then we will scan every piece of equipment if needs be, down to the running spikes of Usain bloody Bolt. And I don't care who complains about it."

- 0 -

_29 June 2012, late night  
London, private club_

William Towers was settled in a secluded corner and observed his companion through the cigar smoke drifting between them. They had been to the opera and had come to the club for a nightcap afterwards. Harry's bowtie hung loose around his neck and the first two buttons of his shirt was undone. As Towers watched, he blew a plume of smoke towards the ceiling and picked up his glass.  
"Something on your mind, William?" he asked mildly, aware of the other man's scrutiny.  
"I hear you've commissioned a book on the history of Section D," Towers said.  
Harry lifted an eyebrow. "You're rather well-informed about internal matters of the Security Services."  
"Well, I do have the JIC and Directors General on speed dial, Harry. You're not my only source of intelligence you know," Towers responded dryly.  
"So you keep saying," Harry grumbled good-naturedly. He continued after a brief pause. "Don't worry, the book's for internal consumption only."  
"Of course," Towers said but continued to eye Harry speculatively. "I also hear you have Malcolm Wynn-Jones rooting around the archives to gather information for the book."  
"Yes," Harry responded, unruffled, "I thought it best to use someone that had intimate experience of the Section."  
The Home Secretary put down his drink and leaned forward. "Harry. You're up to something, and I'd like to know what it is."

Harry didn't respond immediately. Even though William Towers had become a friend in the dark months after Ruth's death, Harry never forgot that the man was also his boss and a politician. Some things were better kept hidden from him, and this was one of them. He was not about to advertise the fact that he was digging deep into Melvyn Smith's background and his activities during his deployment in Belfast. It was possible that Smithy still had friends within the Service and Harry did not want word of the investigation to reach him. The fewer people that knew what Malcolm was really doing, the better.  
"I'm not up to anything," he lied smoothly.  
William stared at him, unconvinced, but it was obvious that Harry would not give him anything. He let it go with a sigh.

- 0 -

_10 July 2012  
London, Thames House_

Down in the registry Malcolm was buried behind a mountain of files. He'd been at it for close to three weeks and had not found anything of significance. The files covering events in Belfast in June 1978 were somewhat sketchy and as he closed the last one he wondered what he was going to tell Harry. Malcolm could sense that the rest of the team thought their boss was chasing shadows where Melvyn Smith was concerned, and the lack of substance in the files seemed to support that. But he was not so quick to dismiss Harry's instincts. He had been there the last time these events came back to haunt them in the form of Davie King, and it was that experience which made him give his friend and former boss the benefit of the doubt.

As he stretched his back muscles wearily, his thoughts went back to the night three weeks ago when he'd opened the door to find Harry standing there. It was the first time they'd seen each other since Ruth's funeral and Malcolm had been relieved to note that Harry looked much better than he had on that occasion. The waxen complexion and the rigid posture had gone, but the shadows behind the eyes were still there if one looked closely enough. Perhaps that was the reason he had agreed to undertake the investigation; it would allow him to see Harry on a regular basis. Once he'd started, it soon became their habit to end the day with a chat in Harry's office. They shared a drink and talked about everything and nothing, trying to ignore the ghosts as the rest of the Grid lay in darkness around them. Harry seemed grateful to have someone to talk to other than that journal he was always writing in and Malcolm, in return, was happy to support Harry in this small way.

As he walked down the long, dusty aisle to return some of the files to their place his eyes once again fell on the new walk-in safe at the end of the room. On his first day here he had asked the registry clerk what was in it, and she'd informed him that it held the files that only the DG was allowed access to. He glanced around, but there was no-one else in sight. After a moment's hesitation he walked up to the door and inspected the locking mechanism carefully. He nodded to himself; he was sure that he could beat it. But he would need help to pull it off.

- 0 -

That night he mooted his plan to Harry, who looked hesitant.  
"It's risky. What makes you think there will be anything in there pertaining to Smithy?"  
Malcolm trod carefully, solicitous of Harry's feelings. "Because I also looked into the files surrounding Bill Crombie's death."  
Harry's eyes flashed and Malcolm continued hurriedly. "Basic paperwork is missing, Harry. When I compared it to the paperwork in other files where officers had been killed, it was obvious that the ones for the time period you are interested in have been sanitised. I think the stuff they removed is in that vault. And if it's sensitive enough to be put in there, then it might just hold the answer to this whole riddle."  
"Christ, Malcolm," Harry sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I didn't bring you back to get you in trouble."  
"But you brought me back to find the information you need to safeguard the Olympics," Malcolm said emphatically. "It's the only way."  
His conviction was evident, but there was also something else in his look: a hint of excitement. It was that which decided Harry.  
"All right. Use Calum and Jennifer to help you. But let us be clear about one thing. You're doing it on my orders, and any repercussions will be mine to endure."  
Malcolm nodded and they lapsed into amicable silence, contemplating the possible fallout if things should go wrong.

Eventually Harry spoke. "It's good to have you back here, Malcolm."  
The other man smiled. "It's good to be back," he said as his eyes roamed around the empty Grid fondly.  
"Do you miss it?" Harry asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.  
Malcolm considered the question carefully. "Some days. But then I open the paper and read about another attempted terrorist attack and I get that familiar clutch of fear in my stomach, and the feeling passes."  
He paused, then added with quiet certainty, "I left at the right time."  
Harry acknowledged the answer with a slight nod as his eyes drifted to Ruth's old station. "Ruth once told me that we'd forfeited the chance for a normal life. Perhaps she was right, but…" his voice broke slightly, "I wanted to try. With her."  
And suddenly the tears came. Malcolm looked away delicately as Harry covered his eyes with a hand, and for a few minutes the only sound was his quiet sobbing.

Malcolm waited until he'd once again composed himself before speaking. "I suspect you would have made it work, you know. You'd have to search far and wide for two more stubborn people than the two of you."  
Harry laughed softly. "Yes, I suppose you're right."  
"You'll know when the time is right, Harry. To retire," Malcolm said gently.  
When Harry stared at him in surprise, he added, "You'll know when you've paid your dues. As I did. When that time comes, have the courage to walk away. You've earned it."  
He watched as Harry breathed deeply, and merely nodded once.

- 0 -

_13 July 2012  
London_

Dimitri sat in his car two blocks away from Flannery's flat and watched on a small monitor as the little green dot began to move.  
"So where are we off to today, mate?" he muttered quietly to himself. The dot was moving slowly; the Irishman was obviously on foot. Dimitri let him get a healthy lead before starting the car and following.

As he kept an eye on the dot, his mind wandered. He was not enjoying this assignment. He missed Erin and Rosie, and he loathed these men he was now forced to work with every day. In his view most of them were simply playing at being soldiers, but did not have the discipline required to be a good soldier. They were frankly a menace to society.

The dot had stopped just around the corner and Dimitri pulled into the kerb. He got out of the car, moved to the corner and peered around cautiously. Flannery was in a public phone booth halfway down the block. Dimitri fished out his mobile.  
"Calum, our man is making a call from a public phone booth." He gave the location before moving back to the car. With any luck GCHQ will pick up the call and they could finally get some worthwhile information.

Ten minutes later, back at Thames House, Calum received a recording of the conversation from GCHQ.  
"Harry!" he called, and the older man swiftly made his way out of his office, Erin and Rory in tow.  
"We got something."  
He played back the recording:

_Flannery: I think we should bring things forward to the opening ceremony.  
2nd man: No. We stick to the plan as agreed, damn it.  
Flannery: Are you losing your bottle? Are you going to weaken on me?  
2nd man: No! I think we have a better chance of succeeding if we wait till the closing ceremony, that's all. Everyone will be relaxed, including the Security Services. They'll think they've pulled it off, security-wise; that they got to the end without incident. Their guard will be down and that's when we strike.  
Flannery: Fine. I'll see to it. And what will you be doing?  
2nd man: Oh, I'll be making sure that Harry Pearce is right in the middle of it._

All eyes turned to Harry, who stood motionless, lips pursed.  
Calum cleared his throat. "The, er, second man..."  
"Melvyn Smith," Harry supplied evenly.  
"Harry-" Erin started, but he cut her off.  
"We now know when the attack will take place. Let them run until we have more information. Tell Dimitri to stick with Flannery – we still don't know what they're planning, and where."  
He began to walk away when Erin spoke. "What about Smith?"  
Harry turned back to her, a steely glint in his eyes. "Leave him to me."

Back in his office Harry sat down behind the desk and fiddled with his pen, thinking things over.  
"You and me, Smithy," he said softly, "time to finish this. It's always been between us anyway."

_tbc_


	6. Chapter 6

_16 July 2012  
London, the Grid_

"Let me get this straight – you're proposing to break into the safe only the DG is allowed to access and steal some of the files?" Jenny asked, looking between Harry and Malcolm.  
They were gathered in the meeting room and Malcolm had just presented his plan for breaking into the Registry safe.  
"Yes," Harry replied.  
"Wow, awesome."  
Her boss winced at her choice of words but she didn't even notice, too tickled by the idea of it all. It appealed to the anarchistic streak in her. She did not realise it at the time, but that was the precise moment in which Harry earned her undying loyalty and respect.  
Calum was somewhat more circumspect. "That's a big risk to take on the off-chance that there might be something of interest in there."  
Harry nodded. "Calum's right. Which is why this operation is strictly on a voluntary basis."  
"I'm in," Jenny said immediately and all eyes turned to Calum. Malcolm looked anxious; he really needed both of them if they were to pull this off undetected.  
Calum pondered for a moment longer, then shrugged. "Sure - I'm not going to pass up the opportunity to go down in Five folklore."  
There was a general release of tension in the room and Harry smiled. "All right." He turned to Malcolm. "I'll leave you to it."  
Once they were alone, Jenny addressed Malcolm. "You honestly think it can be done?"  
"Are you as good as everyone says you are?" he asked in response.  
"You bet your arse I am," she responded swiftly.  
Malcolm blanched but quickly recovered. "Er, right. Then it should be a dawdle."  
He began to explain his plan in detail.

- 0 -

_18 July 2012  
London, Thames House_

Malcolm had been down in the registry for an hour, his nose buried in a file. He glanced at his watch. Time to go. He got up, stretched, and began to walk through the aisles. To any observer he appeared to be simply stretching his legs. What he was in fact doing, was making a thorough check that there was no-one else in there but him and the clerk.

Upstairs on the Grid, Calum and Jenny were poised at their stations, eyes glued to the old style walkie-talkie positioned between them. Calum was drumming his fingers on the desk and Jenny glared at him in irritation.  
"Will you stop that? As if Harry's pacing isn't bad enough," she grumbled as her boss' figure once again crossed her field of vision when he passed by the glass panels of his office.  
Calum snorted. "Hello Pot, this is Kettle. If you chew that gum any harder you'll break a molar."  
She opened her mouth to respond, and at that moment there was a clear 'click' from the walkie-talkie.  
"There it is!"  
Calum straightened up. "Right. Watch and learn, Jenny, watch and learn."  
He attacked his keyboard with gusto.

Minutes earlier Malcolm had wandered up to the clerk, empty mug in hand.  
"I could do with a tea break," he declared. "Can I make you one as well?"  
The clerk was an old hand that knew Malcolm from way back and regarded him as a sweet helpless man where domestic matters were concerned. On the previous occasions he'd made tea for her, it had been awful. She wasn't supposed to leave anyone in the Registry unattended, but… It was sweet, harmless Malcolm. And she could kill for a decent cup of tea.  
"Why don't I make the tea?" she offered with a smile. "I can rely on you to keep an eye on things while I'm gone, can't I?"  
"Oh, of course. It's very kind of you," Malcolm said bashfully and handed over his mug.  
He watched her walk off, aware that timing was now of the essence. As she neared the first set of automatic doors he clicked the walkie-talkie once. The seconds ticked by and she was nearing the outer doors.

"Come on, Calum," Jenny urged, just as everything suddenly turned dark. Only the computer screens on the Grid continued to glow, powered by the emergency power supply.  
"Yes!" Calum exclaimed, unable to hide his relief. "I've slowed down the back-up generator; it'll take ten minutes to come online."  
Jenny wasn't listening; she was focussed on her screen and what she had to do.  
As Harry joined them in the darkness, Calum sighed dramatically. "These localised power failures are getting out of hand," he smirked. "The mayor really ought to do something about it."  
He was not bothered in the least that they were inconveniencing a couple of blocks of London.  
"Just make sure it doesn't unexpectedly come back on," Harry said impatiently behind him.  
"I'm in," Jenny announced as MI5's electronic surveillance system opened on her screen. She expertly manoeuvred to the section monitoring the Registry and set to work.

The power went off, sealing the doors and trapping the clerk in the outer office. Malcolm moved swiftly, finding his way by touch to the aisle where he'd earlier left his holdall. He fumbled inside until his fingers found the infrared nightsight goggles and pulled it over his head. Everything turned an eerie green and he rooted in the bag for the electronic device the three techies had built over the last few days. Once he had it in hand he moved down the aisle to the big safe and glanced at his watch.

Upstairs, Harry did the same. "Three minutes elapsed," he murmured and glanced at Jenny.  
She frantically typed codes into her computer and selected certain areas of the Thames House floor plan displayed on her screen. Green lights began to flash in the areas she'd chosen and she nodded at Calum. He picked up the walkie-talkie and gave Malcolm two clicks.  
"Up to Malcolm and his gadget now," Calum said over his shoulder, then added under his breath, "Let's hope it works."  
"It'll work," Jenny said confidently. "The old guy is a genius."  
Behind her, Harry smiled.  
"Start overlaying the fake surveillance footage, Calum," he instructed.

Malcolm attached his device to the code panel and activated it. He took a stethoscope out of his pocket and pressed it against the locking mechanism and listened carefully. As his device ran through the numbers he could hear the tiny beeps when it ran over the correct ones. When he had them all, he detached his device, punched in the code, and held his breath.

On Jenny's screen another light suddenly turned green.  
"He's done it!" she exclaimed and let out an exuberant whoop. By now Erin and Rory had also gathered round and they shared relieved smiles.  
Calum's computer bleeped a warning and the smiles disappeared quickly. The techie sprang into action.  
"Oh no you don't," he mumbled as he typed furiously.  
"Calum?" Erin probed, trying to keep the apprehension out of her voice.  
"Nothing to worry about – just some bright spark from the power company trying to turn it back on."

Malcolm swung the safe door shut behind him, pulled off the goggles and switched on a small flashlight. It revealed rows of boxes, neatly ordered by date, a fact for which he was extremely grateful. He hurriedly located the box he wanted and swapped the files inside with random ones he'd collected from the shelves outside. After he'd shoved the files into his bag, he made sure that everything looked neat and undisturbed before killing the torch and preparing to leave.

Harry glanced at his watch again. Their ten minutes were almost up. Once the back-up generator kicked in the clerk would be able to enter and Malcolm could be caught red-handed. Calum was furiously jiggling his leg as he replaced the actual security surveillance with the recording they'd made earlier, showing Malcolm sitting at the clerk's desk for the whole ten minutes. When the 'click' from the walkie-talkie finally came, indicating that Malcolm was out and back in position, it sounded like a gunshot in the tense silence.  
Jenny glanced at Calum. "Ready?"  
He nodded, and she turned the surveillance systems back on. As soon as she was done he turned the power back on as well. They blinked at each other in the sudden brightness.  
"Well, that was fun," Calum declared, and relieved laughter broke out. Even Harry smiled as he went back to his office.

- 0 -

_One hour later_

Malcolm was slowly working his way through the files he had purloined, searching for the ones pertaining to Melvyn Smith.  
"Bloody Nora!" he exclaimed softly as one interesting file caught his eye. Apparently it had been British Intelligence that had assassinated communist activist Henri Curiel in Paris on 4 May 1978. For a moment he was tempted to read the whole file until he remembered that it would probably be better for him to get out of there sooner rather than later. He put it aside reluctantly and moved on to the documents covering June 1978. Towards the end of the pile his eye caught Melvyn Smith's name in a lengthy report, and he began to read it from the start. His face grew grimmer as he progressed and by the time he finished, he knew it was what they were looking for.

Twenty minutes later he walked into Harry's office and wordlessly laid the report in front of him. Harry looked up at Malcolm and his troubled expression made him pause. He slowly drew the report to him and gave it his undivided attention. The heading stated in bold lettering:

MI5 INVOLVEMENT IN KIDNAPPING OF OFFICER BILL CROMBIE

- 0 -

_Late that night  
London, Harry's house_

He drifted aimlessly through the house, restlessly picking up random objects and placing them down again. A statue of a horse, an ornamental ashtray (he didn't like people smoking in his house), a well-thumbed book (Shakespeare's _Hamlet_). He gravitated back to his favourite armchair and sat down, all the time aware of his blood roaring through his veins, throbbing in his temples. The desire to take action - cold, calculated, vengeful action - was overwhelming and it was only the possible impact on the operation that held him back. Instead he paced the house like a caged animal and allowed the hatred to permeate every cell in his body. His eyes fell on the book again and he reached for his journal.

_18/07/12  
Dear Ruth,  
'Tis now the very witching time of night,  
when churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out  
contagion to this world: now could I drink hot blood,  
and do such bitter business, as the day  
would quake to look on.'_

_Hamlet knew a thing or two about the desire for revenge. Revenge: somehow such a passive word to describe something so dark. I prefer vengeance – to me it encapsulates the emotions behind the act better. Tonight it is all I can think about. Everything that is happening can be explained by it. Malcolm found a secret report that indicates that Smithy had sold Bill out to the IRA. The Service covered it up to spare itself embarrassment and quietly fired him. He told the IRA exactly who Bill was and gave our position in the pub to them on the day that Bill was snatched. It was an act of vengeance for the death of a girl he was in love with. Her name was Andrea Flannery and she died in the O'Mally's bomb blast. So you see how it is all connected by a desire for vengeance: Davie King bombs the pub to avenge his father's death and kills the Flannery girl in the process, so in turn Smithy betrays Bill and I to the IRA to avenge Andrea's death. Unfortunately for him the IRA didn't take us both – how that must have grated, as I'm sure he blamed me more than anyone else in MI5._

_But Bill's death is apparently not sufficient. His hatred seems to have grown over the years to now encompass everyone in England and even the world. How else does one explain the plan to attack the Olympic Games with the help of the girl's brother? Not that I don't understand the desire to avenge the death of the woman one loves, of course I do. My biggest regret is that I did not get to kill Levrov personally – if he hadn't known who I was I could and would have. It's the sheer scale of Smithy's plan, the willingness to kill hundreds of innocent people in this cause that baffles me. It's unfathomable._

_Well, I will have my vengeance too. For my friend, who died the sort of death that haunts one's dreams. My God, what agony he must have endured as they systematically disfigured him. With a blowtorch of all things, Ruth. I searched for him, and one time I reached an abandoned farmhouse just after they'd left. The stench of burnt flesh still hung in that stuffy room. It turned my stomach. The thought of it still does._

_Apart from you and my children, my friendship with Bill was probably the relationship I cherished most in my life. His death was an early lesson in the need for self control and self denial if I wanted to survive as an intelligence officer. I had become quite good at it, I think. But then you came along and suddenly it wasn't so easy anymore. Often I question if part of the reason you refused my proposal and kept me at arms length afterwards was your belief that the Service would always come first for me. I don't blame you; I didn't do a very good job of convincing you otherwise. It wasn't true though. I wonder if you truly understood how deeply in love with you I was. Am. And since we started off talking about Hamlet, did you have any idea how often I looked at you and thought of these words:_  
_'Doubt thou the stars are fire,_  
_doubt that the sun doth move,_  
_doubt truth be a liar,_  
_but never doubt I love.'_

_Enough of these maudlin thoughts. I have a feeling this operation is going to come to a head soon. There's a symmetry to events then and now that makes me uncomfortable. Will the first morally questionable decision I ever made lead to my last one – my vengeance for Bill? Will there be this link between the start of my career and the end of it? Or perhaps a more permanent end for me? It would be fitting in a sense._

_Whatever happens, I don't intend to go quietly into that good night._

_tbc_


	7. Chapter 7

_20 July 2012  
London, the Grid_

It was late and he knew he should have gone home some time ago. At least he wasn't the only one still there; the light was on in Harry's office and his boss was bent over some paperwork, the red wall behind him glowing warmly in the darkness. Rory sighed and picked up his phone.  
"Ellen, how are you darling? You promised me that information about the Flannery family tree today. There's only about three hours of the day left."  
He listened briefly to the response. "Okay, good. Yes, I'll be here."  
The call was disconnected and he stared at the heap of files on his desk resignedly. Everything there was to be known about Ronan Flannery was contained in them. A whole life reduced to these reams of paper; birth certificate, ID papers, school reports, university results, employment records, even medical records. Once MI5 started digging through someone's life, very little escaped their attention. So the answer as to how Flannery intended to get hold of explosives or other weapons had to be somewhere on his desk. There had to be a connection, whether personal or professional, to a company or another person with access and the ability to move the goods. One of these innocent looking documents held the key, he just hadn't realised it yet.

Rory had been through all the files more than once. He had almost perfect recall and leaned his head back and closed his eyes, systematically running through all of it in his mind again. Young Ronan's life had been unremarkable until the age of ten and that fateful day when his big sister was killed in the O'Mally's bomb. After that he'd struggled at school for a few years before straightening himself out. He'd applied himself academically and finished with very good marks, which allowed him to attend university. During his time there he was active in the students' peace movement and vocally anti-IRA. He'd studied Classics and whilst he didn't end top of his class or anything, his results were nothing to be ashamed of. After university he'd gone into teaching first before moving on-

Hold on.

Rory sat up and reached for the photographs of Flannery's room that Dimitri had taken when he was in there to plant their bugs. He shoved a few piles of paper out of the way and spread the photos across the cleared space. As he pored over them Malcolm walked in and called a greeting. The analyst didn't even hear him or notice as he went into Harry's office. His focus on the photos was total; the rest of the world around him faded into nothing. Fifteen minutes later he sat up slowly, a tingle of excitement running down his spine.  
"Virgil."  
He turned to his computer and accessed the Flannery family tree he had pestered the unfortunate Ellen for, then went through the names meticulously, checking them against another list he'd already compiled. It took him half an hour to find it and when he did, he sat back, the tingle turning into a current. That had to be it.

In Harry's office the Section Head and his old friend chatted quietly. Harry's eyes often strayed to the only other light still burning out on the Grid and he struggled to suppress the memories its presence brought to the surface. He tried to ignore the light and the dark head bent under it, but it was a losing battle. Because of this he noticed the moment the analyst jumped up and hurried toward his office with long strides.  
"I think Rory has something," he informed Malcolm.  
He'd barely finished speaking when the analyst burst in. Harry lifted an eyebrow and Rory stopped suddenly.  
"Oh, sorry!" He retreated to the door and knocked, bright, expectant eyes fixed on his boss.  
Harry suppressed his amusement and said gravely, "Come in."

Rory started speaking as he moved forward. "The explosives are already at the stadium. It's always been there."  
Harry tilted his head. "How do you know?"  
"Flannery studied Classics at university, so you would expect a few of those books to be lying around his flat, wouldn't you?" Rory responded. "But there isn't – there's only one. The Complete Works of Virgil."  
He handed Harry the photograph showing the book lying next to Flannery's bed.  
"Virgil... You're thinking about his _Aeneid_ and the Trojan Horse?"  
Rory smiled, delighted that Harry had caught on so quickly. "I did some checking. Flannery has a second cousin who works for the Irish company that supplied granite blocks for the building of the Olympic stadium – as a driver. Harry, he drove the truck that transported those granite blocks down to London. I'm thinking one or two got replaced on the way down with fake ones which contain the explosives."  
Harry suddenly remembered the stadium manager kicking one of the blocks during their visit.  
"Christ," he muttered and reached for the phone.

- 0 -

_Olympic Stadium_

Calum ran the portable scanner over the last of the granite blocks and turned to Erin. "Nothing. As I said from the start, I think Rory's pissing into the wind."  
Erin turned to the stadium manager. "Are you sure that's all of them?"  
He sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes, still irritated that he'd been dragged out of bed for this. "Yes, I'm sure. You have checked all the blocks we used in the stadium."  
"Okay, thank you," she said and followed Calum towards the exit.  
The techie stopped suddenly and she almost walked into him. "What-"  
She followed his gaze and turned to the station manager. "How about those two pieces underneath that statue?"  
He looked to where she was pointing and she saw realisation spread across his face. "I'd forgotten about those," he said sheepishly.

- 0 -

_The Grid_

Harry snatched up the phone as soon as it rang. "Yes?"  
"Harry, we found it," Erin reported. "Here's Calum with the details."  
He heard her hand the phone off and the techie's voice took over. "The tartan prince was right. Two of the blocks were replaced with replicas. They contain enough explosives to bring down the section of the pavilion they're under. The Bomb Squad says it's best to remove them as they are rather than trying to get the explosives out here. It's most likely that we're looking at remote detonation, so we're jamming all signals in the area until it's been disarmed."  
Harry breathed a sigh of relief and looked up at Rory. He nodded and smiled, his appreciation for the analyst's deductive work evident. Rory tried his best not to look too pleased.  
"Now we can pick up Flannery and his friends," Harry said and punched in Dimitri's number.

- 0 -

_One hour later  
Stables outside London_

Dimitri was crouched behind a wall, keeping an eye on the stable block into which Flannery and the other four men had disappeared earlier. The stables housed some of the horses that would compete in the Olympics, and Fortress Inc had been assigned to secure the property. Harry had put his foot down about allowing the private security company to take charge of any of the main venues, and in the end the Mayor had to be content with letting them safeguard lesser venues and storage areas. There was a soft footfall behind Dimitri and he swung round to see the black-clad figure of the CO19 Team Leader crouched behind him.  
"About time," the spook grouched good-naturedly and the other man smiled.  
"Are your guys in position?"  
"Yes Sir."  
"Okay. I'll go in and see if I can talk them out of there. We don't want to endanger the horses unnecessarily. You monitor my comms; if it becomes clear they won't come peacefully you come and get us."  
The man nodded his understanding and Dimitri vaulted lightly over the wall.

He walked towards the stables, banking on the fact that the men inside knew him as a fellow guard to get him in the door safely. His guard outfit came with bulletproof vest and a gun, and he loosened the weapon in the holster to ensure it would come out smoothly and quickly if needed. He brazenly walked through the front door and knew immediately that it had been a mistake. There was time to notice the array of automatic weapons spread out on the floor and the fact that there were only four men in the room, before something hit him hard behind the left ear and everything went black.

- 0 -

_The Grid_

"Harry!" Calum beckoned urgently and Harry and Malcolm made their way swiftly to his side.  
The techie and Erin had returned from the Olympic Stadium in time to take charge of Dimitri's operation, but it was clear from their tense faces that something had gone wrong.  
"The CO19 Team Leader is on the line. There's a bugger-up at the stables. Dimitri has been captured and Flannery and his men have barricaded themselves in. Apparently they're armed to the teeth. Flannery is threatening to shoot Dimitri in the head if CO19 tries to storm the building."  
Harry closed his eyes briefly. "What are our options?"  
It was Erin that answered. "We have none. We'll have to take the building by force and trust Dimitri to look out for himself." Erin's voice was calm and belied the turmoil in her eyes. She was terrified for Dimitri, but tried her best to hide it.  
Harry looked at her for a long time, his face soft and filled with empathy. He thought about Dimitri, so young, so enthusiastic, so promising.  
"There is another option," he said and took out his mobile.

- 0 -

Malcolm followed Harry into his office. "I don't think this is the best plan you've ever had, Harry."  
"It'll be fine," Harry said without looking up.  
"Will it? You're taking a huge risk. You're offering yourself to a man who hates you and wants nothing more than for you to be dead."  
"I appreciate your concern, but I don't plan to die today."  
Malcolm looked unconvinced. "Are you sure about that? Perhaps, subconsciously-"  
Harry's head snapped up and Malcolm stopped talking, the anger in the other man's eyes telling him in no uncertain terms that he had stepped over the line. They stared at each other until Harry took a deep breath and looked at his team out on the Grid.  
"I know what everyone's thinking." His eyes went to the journal lying on his desk and he was quiet for a beat before meeting Malcolm's gaze resolutely.  
"But they're wrong. I don't have a death wish. For once I have an opportunity to save one of my officers and I'm going to take it. I think it has a good chance to work."  
Malcolm watched him carefully and could see the sincerity of the statement.  
He nodded solemnly. "Fine. I'll drive you."  
He turned and walked out before Harry could argue. Harry smiled slightly, warmed by Malcolm's support. He picked up the journal and ran his hand over its leather exterior, thinking about sacrifice, before he slipped it into his coat pocket and followed Malcolm out.

_tbc_


	8. Chapter 8

_20 July 2012, late night  
Stables outside London_

They sat in the car, each lost in his own thoughts.  
"Do you think he'll come?" Malcolm asked after another glance at the clock.  
"He'll come," Harry said quietly and with complete certainty.  
They could see the Obbo van a few hundred metres down the lane and some of the CO19 officers were visible, but otherwise there wasn't a soul in sight. Ten minutes later a car's headlights turned into the lane and crawled towards them.  
Harry followed its progress intently. "Comms check," he said into the stillness of the car and Malcolm jumped slightly at the unexpected sound.  
"Loud and clear," Calum confirmed.

The car came to a stop about twenty metres away, but no-one got out. Harry waited a few seconds more, then reached for the door handle.  
"Wait, Harry. You told him we know everything and that we've found the explosives. He has nothing left to lose - what if he shoots you as soon as you're out of the car?" Malcolm said suddenly, anxiously.  
Harry shook his head. "He won't. At heart Smithy is too much of a coward to kill me himself. He'll try and get someone else to do it."  
He got out before Malcolm could reply and began walking towards the other vehicle.  
"I hope you're right," Malcolm mumbled as the old familiar clutch of fear returned to his stomach in full force, reminding him once again why he'd retired.

Harry came to a stop halfway between the two cars and waited. He kept his hands well in sight. The night was unnaturally silent, as if even nature itself was holding its breath. The door of the other car opened and the interior was illuminated, revealing the tense features of Melvyn Smith. He got out of the car and approached slowly until the two men were only a few feet apart. His eyes darted around as he tried to take in everything around him, before they settled on Harry. The two men stared at each other, their mutual revulsion crackling between them.  
"Thank you for coming," Harry said, carefully hiding his distaste at having to talk to the man who'd betrayed Bill. "It'll count in your favour later."  
When Smithy didn't respond, Harry continued. "Shall we go in?"  
He turned towards the darkened stable block.  
"Aren't you going to search me for a weapon?" Smithy asked, surprised.  
"It would be a pointless gesture. I understand your accomplices have a whole arsenal in there."  
Smithy stared at Harry. "Why are you doing this?" he asked in bewilderment.  
Harry sighed. "Because I'd prefer this stand-off to end without bloodshed. I want to save my officer, and I'm sure you'd like to save your men as well. So shall we?"

They walked up to the door. Harry was aware of dark figures scurrying into position behind them, hoping to get a clear shot when the door opened.  
"Only fire on my command," he ordered sharply.  
Smithy looked at him in alarm and began to turn around, but Harry grabbed his arm.  
"Keep walking."  
When they reached the door he nodded at Smithy and the other man stepped forward and knocked. "Ronan, it's Smithy. I have Harry Pearce with me. He has offered to exchange himself for his officer."  
There was no response.  
"Come on, Ronan," Smithy pleaded, "let us in."  
The door didn't budge.  
"What now?" Smithy asked helplessly.  
Harry hesitated momentarily before he began to speak in a clear voice. "This is Harry Pearce. Are you going to be a coward and kill an innocent man, whilst at the same time letting the person responsible for your sister's death walk away unharmed?"  
They waited, and finally some muffled sounds could be heard from behind the door.

It began to open slowly, revealing a bloodied Dimitri with a gun held to his temple.  
"Get in and close the door," a disembodied voice ordered.  
They did as they were told and as the door closed behind them the darkness was complete.  
"Turn on the light," Harry said calmly into the inky blackness, "before someone trips and accidentally shoots a priceless horse."  
A switch was flipped behind them and the room flooded with light.  
Harry swiftly appraised his surroundings. They were in the large walkway in front of the stables and he could hear the horses move around, stamping their feet and whinnying softly.  
His eyes moved to Dimitri. "You all right?"  
"Yes. Harry, you shouldn't have-"  
Flannery pressed the gun barrel harder into his flesh. "Shut. Up."  
Harry's eyes flashed dangerously as Dimitri grimaced in pain.  
"If we all stay calm, no-one needs to die today. But if you do further harm to my officer, you will regret it," he promised the Irishman.  
The threatening edge to his voice did not go unnoticed by Smithy, who took a few steps away from Harry.  
Without taking his eyes off Flannery, Harry addressed the gathering.  
"We have found the explosives. Hiding them in those fake granite blocks was a nice plan, but not quite smart enough to fool us. We have removed everything. It's over, so stop this now before you get yourselves killed."  
Flannery's face flushed and he glared at Harry. "It's _over_?! My sister is dead! Someone has to pay for that."  
Harry looked into his eyes and saw his desperation and pain. It was a dangerous combination. He spread his hands. "Fine. But I'm the one you really want, aren't I? So let my officer go, and you can take me wherever you want and do with me whatever you wish."  
"Or I could just shoot you now and be done with it," Flannery said hotly, lifting his gun and pointing it at Harry.  
"You could, but we all know that will not end well for you. You're surrounded. If you shoot me now, you will be gunned down in a matter of seconds."

In the Obbo van Erin shook her head. "I don't like this."  
She reached for the comms but Calum grabbed her hand. "Harry said to wait for his command. You need to trust him."

Flannery hesitated and his gaze flicked to Smithy uncertainly. Harry saw it and pressed harder.  
"Is this what Andrea would have wanted? You think you're honouring her by causing the deaths of untold innocent people?"  
The blood drained from Smithy's face and he stepped forward aggressively.  
"How dare you. How dare you even mention her name! You can't know what she'd want. You have no idea what it feels like to hold the woman you love in your arms and watch her die!"

The last few words were screamed directly into Harry's face, a drop of spittle hitting him on the cheek. The words fell like hammer blows and the world stopped turning for him. Suddenly he was back on the estuary, watching Ruth die. He closed his eyes against the memories flooding his mind.  
_The green grass, her red blood, the grey sky, her beautiful blue eyes. The chilly air, her pale, cold skin against his cheek. Her words: "We were never meant to have those things."_  
When he opened them again, the agony and rage radiating from them forced Smithy to take a step back.  
"Yes I do," Harry said in a strained voice, "I know what it's like. Her name was Ruth Evershed and I loved her. She was stabbed in front of me, because of me, and she died. Her blood was on my hands, and I couldn't save her."  
He took a deep breath and blinked against the emotion, and when he continued his voice was cold and dead. "Like you I craved vengeance. I ordered men killed to avenge her, but only those responsible. Never the innocent. But don't kid yourselves that such actions are for the dead; the vengeance is for us that are left behind, for closure. It means nothing to Ruth, and I don't want to honour her with violence and death. My requiem to her is the good I try to do. This, here, offering myself for my officer – that is an act worthy of her."

For the longest time nobody moved. Harry was aware of Dimitri's sorrowful gaze on him and of the other men in the room looking at each other uncertainly. Then Ronan Flannery slowly lowered his weapon. After some hesitation the other four men followed suit. Smithy was staring at Harry as if seeing him for the first time, and maybe he was. The man before him was not the brash, arrogant intelligence officer he had always known him as, but a man scarred and bloodied by a lifetime of service, violence and loss. A man for whom death would probably hold little meaning.

Flannery pulled Dimitri to his feet and freed his hands. "Tell them we're surrendering. We're coming out."  
Dimitri relayed the message and squeezed Harry's shoulder in gratitude and support as he walked past him to the door.  
Harry didn't move; he was watching Smithy closely. He saw the exact moment the will to live was extinguished in the other man's eyes. Smithy stooped and picked up a gun from the floor, and Harry said nothing, did nothing. He continued to watch quietly, thinking of Bill, as Smithy pressed the gun to his own head and pulled the trigger.

The crack of the gunshot froze everyone in their tracks momentarily. Dimitri and one of the men with Flannery reacted first. Both swung round simultaneously and too late Dimitri saw the gun in the other man's hand.  
"No!" he yelled as he launched himself at the man. His shoulder impacted with the arm holding the gun a split-second after the shot went off.

The bullet hit Harry square in the chest and flung him backwards. He landed hard on the concrete floor and for a second everything was numb. In that moment of nothingness he knew that this was the end. The shock and pain hit and he couldn't breathe. His vision darkened and he lost all sense of time. He was vaguely aware of people crowding around him, of Dimitri's white face above him, of pressure on his chest. He felt cold and thought of Ruth, his heart filling with the love he still held for her. Other faces swam into vision – Erin, Calum, other men he did not know.  
From afar he heard someone say: "I thought he'd shot Mr Smith."  
His eyes began to close when a warm hand gripped his and Malcolm's voice said, "Harry."  
He fought them open again and looked at his friend, and tried to speak, but it was difficult because of the blood filling his mouth.  
"...Po...pocket..." he managed.  
Malcolm frowned, momentarily confused, before understanding spread across his features. He pulled the journal out of Harry's coat pocket and pressed it into his hand before lifting both and resting them on Harry's heart.  
Harry smiled gratefully and his eyes began to close again. Malcolm still held his other hand and the human contact comforted him. A final thought occurred to him and he squeezed the hand in his. He fought to turn his head and looked into Malcolm's face.  
"I know who I am," he said clearly, and moments later his hand went limp and his eyes closed forever.

- 0 -

_One week later_

Malcolm was at Thames House for the last time. He had wrapped up his involvement in the Melvyn Smith case and he knew that there was no longer anything at Thames House to come back for. There was only one more thing he needed to do. His feet took him down the stairs almost unconsciously, and when he reached the door he looked up at the camera solemnly. The door unlocked and he entered the Memorial Room quietly. He passed by the names, his eyes caressing each familiar one reverently, pausing longer on _C Wells_. He reached the final row and read the names silently:  
_T Masood  
J Wright  
C Thacker  
R Evershed  
H Pearce_

To his biased eye the last two names appeared closer together than the rest, and he was glad that there weren't any others between them. It was as it should be.

He stood for a moment longer, looking at the two names, together on the Memorial Wall for posterity. As he turned and walked away, he smiled.

_Fin_

_The most important thing in the Olympic Games is not to win but to take part, just as the most important thing in life is not the triumph but the struggle. The essential thing is not to have conquered but to have fought well.  
- Baron Pierre de Coubertin: The Olympic Creed_

__A/N: This concludes the previously posted stories. The next one will be brand-spanking new. Thank you to all who have read, and in many cases re-read. It is much appreciated.


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